


i’ll be anything you ask (and more)

by st_elsewhere



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Implied Mpreg, M/M, in which mpreg is normal so no scientific nonsense trololololo, we're almost at the end friends plz support me, xabi is ghei but stevie is straight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_elsewhere/pseuds/st_elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>steven gerrard is liverpool's homeboy captain fantastic. he's big and hard and <i>lame.</i> one day, thanks to a real madrid ashtray, he meets a certain red-haired spaniard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rated G

**Author's Note:**

> greetings.  
> i hope you'll like mah very first chaptered fic ever in this fandom. S/X ftw.
> 
> shout out for [torres](http://archiveofourown.org/users/torres/pseuds/torres) because i got inspired to make harry kewell as xabi's boyfran *nods nods*
> 
> as usual, comments and kudos are all appreciated and encouraged. do enjoy and see ya.

 

 

 

 

 

 

for a man who lives and breathes liverpool, stevie sure picks the worst time of the year to have his morning jog.  
   
albert dock is freezing.  
   
his toes are curling in his most trusted sneakers and his face is getting numb no thanks to the wind. he should’ve worn a mask. that’ll help to train his lungs when he plays for a full 90 minute. for now he should just stop because his nostrils are inhaling ice, jesus christ, and he’s hungry.  
   
stevie jogs for another couple of yards before he leans his body against an equally freezing bricks of  a flat. he’s covered albert dock once, then. alright, stevie sighs, that’s enough getting blue balls for today.  
   
he puts a hand to his stomach and regulates his breathing. he can hear the waterfront and smell the sea salt from the air but he can’t get his head to focus on ignoring the cold. fuck it. he slips his hands in between his armpits and closes his ey—  
   
 _thump._  
   
when he blinksblinksblin—stevie sees stars before he feels the searing pain at the top of his head. he touches the throbbing part, and finds... grey ashes? oh. oh, great. just great.  
   
“i’m—i’m really sorry.”  
   
stevie cranes his neck to glare at a red-haired man, all pale skin and concerned face, looking down at him from where he’s perched by the opened windows three stories up.  
   
stevie thinks he can just pick the ashtray and fling it back to the owner to save them the trouble. he does what’s on his mind then, reads real madrid on one side of the triangle-shaped black ashtray, and yells,  
   
“hey! hey, mate, here lemme just throw this back to you! catch it!” and waits for a heartbeat but doesn’t get a response so he tries again, “oy! you there?”  
   
huh.  
   
stevie shrugs. he puts the ashtray to the ground and brushes the cigarette’s ashes off of his hair. he never gets the joy of smoking, aside from his expected healthy lifestyle as an athlete. smokers reek of nicotine all the time, the earthy scent plasters itself to your clothes. he doesn’t feel like, metaphorically speaking, burning his hard-earned cash. if he needs to calm his nerves, he’ll just have a time out over a secluded corner, away from the world. chewing two double mint gums also helps. but then again, there’s a saying every man for himself, right?  
   
“um, excuse me?”  
   
stevie looks over to the accented voice. ah. the real madrid fan. what a manner.  
   
“are you okay?” the red-haired man is wearing [a denim jacket and green-yellow t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans](https://31.media.tumblr.com/cbcbfe36df538a57369d2b75a680e918/tumblr_n6pyyeTZvN1rlprwvo1_400.jpg) and he looks just as freezing as stevie.  
   
stevie bends down again to retrieve the ashtray and hands it over to him.  
   
“so you’re from spain?” stevie asks back instead of answering the question. he wipes his hands on his sweatpants, not minding the nicotine smell that will surely stay.  
   
if the red-haired man finally recognizes stevie, he doesn’t make a fuss about it. he just nods and states with a shy but relaxed smile, “you are steven gerrard.”  
   
“the one and only,” stevie chuckles, shrugging, doesn’t have any idea what to do with his hands. “so, real madrid, huh?”  
   
“the one and only.”  
   
ah, stevie grins, what a wit.  
   
“well you’re in liverpool now, i hope you’re not going to so much glance at everton, yeah?” he crosses his arms, still grinning. “that’s the least you can do for injuring liverpool’s captain.”  
   
yeah. when will you ever learn that your bad joke is _bad,_ gerrard, because the spaniard is scrunching his nose as if he remembers that he needs to punish himself later and then he’s taking a step back from stevie like he wants to flee. there goes his chance to have a chit chat with someone new, because talking to strangers is apparently a good thing to develop a cure to your urge to blurt out _bad jokes,_ carra had said.  
   
look what that stupid suggestion costs him! stevie wants to ask more about real madrid in case liverpool will have to meet them in champions league!  
   
“i’m really sorry, my brother don’t like it when the room smell like smoke,” the spaniard apologizes quietly with his understandable english. “i’m going to have exams next week. i daydreamed and knock the ash—”  
   
“hey hey, no, i’m sorry i was just kidding,” stevie cuts him off and then he apologizes too. “i’m sorry. i’ll just get going. you should continue studying, then, i guess?” he offers a tentative smile and the obviously uni student smiles back, taking two steps away from stevie again, distancing himself even further.  
   
“yes, i’m really sorry.” he says for the -nth time, his dark chocolate eyes are probably getting red because of the harsh wind.  
   
“yeah, lay off the fags a lil’, mate.” stevie uses the bricks wall to push himself to a proper standing position and when the spaniard eyeing him with an odd look stevie snaps his fingers. “shit i’m sorry i meant the cigarettes, alright? lay off the cigarettes a little. i mean you’re a fit young lad, y’ know?”  
   
“oh.” and what’s with the relieved sigh? stevie muses as he watches the red-haired man sends him a nervous smile before bidding him a quiet goodbye. stevie mumbles his, and sprints to the parking lot at the other side of the dock.  
   
   
 

 

✖

   
   
   
stevie doesn’t mind shopping for groceries. he likes looking at the colorful racks and racks of goods and foods, all wrapped in eye-catching packages and hey, look, if i buy two bags of haribo i’ll get another bag for free!  
   
stevie also finds it enjoyable to roam around a tesco that isn’t located in his neighborhood, where people would have never thought that the steven ‘stevie’ gerrard bother to drive miles away to get milk and cereals even though the nearest tesco is only ten minute walk from his house.  
   
being the captain fantastic of liverpool’s most beloved football club sure has its perks.  
   
it’s not that stevie is ungrateful for his fame, no. he gets at least a dozen marriage proposals by the end of the week and he has unlimited source of lemon cake (his favorite) now. he’s not complaining. it’s just that he’s never the loud jock type when he grew up; he’s the couldn’t careless boy who actually excels in one field and won’t stop until he’s the best at it. for stevie, the boy who slept through history and failed art, it was—and still is, will always be, really—football.  
   
thus the reason of him queueing in cashier lane number 3 on a sunny friday at a tesco by the albert dock, wearing a hideous but his most beloved grey beanie and a plain mask; his cart is full with foods and beers and thanks to his impulse, a complete dvd box set of smallville.  
   
the person standing in front of him keeps on looking at his cellphone, only to put it back again into the pocket of his jeans, repeat, and so stevie can’t help but to take a good look at the tall man.  
   
“hey, i remember you,” stevie says in lieu of greeting. “real madrid hermano!”  
   
the spaniard turns his body to face stevie and quickly smiles to the direction of his neat converse. stevie himself isn’t the most talkative person in the whole world but he’s not this anonymous man shy, either.  
   
“i’m sorry, i didn’t catch your name, mate.” stevie says, noticing that the spaniard is empty-handed, which is worth a question to ask since they’re at tesco. but for now,  
   
“oh, right. i’m sorry. it’s xabi.”  
   
stevie tries to pronounce it. “shaa-bee. nice. where are your milk and crisps, then?”  
   
“what?” xabi frowns and blinks. he puts both of his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. stevie also remembers that outfit from their first encounter. today, xabi wears a pair of skintight black jeans and they sure accentuating xabi’s slim, long legs in a very flattering curve. stevie’s thick thighs and calves would look ridiculous in those. he doesn’t like cutting off his blood circulation, anyway. that must be uncomfortable. but younger boys and fashionable guys nowadays seem so keen with the skinny jeans?  
   
“stevie?”  
   
stevie wakes up from his wandering thought and points at his cart. “i mean i’m restocking my fridge. we’re in tesco. so where are your milk and biscuits, shaabee?”  
   
xabi’s laugh is short and harsh. he slumps his shoulders and whispers, “you know what? i really should lay off the fags.” his following smile is of a man, uncharacteristically, yielding to the constant nagging around him. that means he’s got someone, probably a girlfriend or parents and he did mention a brother who hated cigarette smoke, to nag him about his unhealthy habit.  
   
ah.  
   
“i gonna buy...” xabi does a quick scan of the various selection of haribo on the makeshift rack by the cashier’s lane. “this.” he takes one bag of jelly beans and acts as if he’s waiting stevie’s approval for choosing artificially flavored sweets over cigarette.  
   
“if you buy two bags, you’ll get another bag for free.” stevie nods with an air of serious business dot com. “it’s a great deal. i picked mine already.”  
   
xabi scrunches his nose. he’s staring at the haribos, head tilted to one side. “two bags of same flavor?”  
   
“nah, you can pick whatever.”  
   
“okay.”  
   
stevie looks away when xabi bends down to pick a bag of chamallows, a bag of super mix, and a bag of starmix from the lowest rack because that’s a polite thing to do. it’s a habit, really. stevie always fancies girls with nice legs.  
   
(xabi is not a girl, though.  
   
but still.)  
   
“were you coming off of your classes?” stevie asks rather abruptly as the middle-aged woman finally pays with a card and xabi steps nearer to the young cashier number 3.  
   
“yes.” and stevie wonders how many other xabi who wears skintight jeans are there in one class. what class?  
   
“what’s your major, then?”  
   
“marketing and business administration.”  
   
“hmm,” stevie pretends to sound like he’s familiar with the alien subject. “at the university of liverpool?”  
   
“yes.” xabi smiles to stevie and to the young cashier number 3. the girl with blue eye makeup and black lipstick misses it. xabi pays with cash and thanks her and he waits until stevie is done with his groceries. “would you like a hand?” he asks quietly, like he’s not sure stevie would appreciate the help.  
   
“much appreciated, mate.” stevie gives him the lighter plastic bag consisting of cornflakes and froot loops. xabi takes it easily enough and stevie leads them to the parking lot.  
   
“nice.” xabi comments when stevie unlocks his most trusted white audi.  
   
“yea.” stevie pats the bonnet of his car with a proud smile. he makes sure his groceries are loaded in the boot, convinces himself that he’s hungry for a split second, and asks xabi to join him on an impromptu lunch.  
   
“err, my treat.”  
   
xabi pauses.  
   
(stevie doesn’t blame him.)  
   
“that’s very kind of you,” xabi begins after a moment of hesitation which was written all over his face. he has a five o’clock shadow yet he still appears like a male model. stevie and five o’clock shadow don’t have a good history. he’s turning into a tramp if he ever forgets to shave in the morning, so that—  
   
“stevie?”  
   
“sorry,” stevie grins, rubbing at his own clean shaven face absentmindedly. he takes off the grey beanie and the mask. “let’s go. i know a place.”  
   
they have a flowing conversation throughout the fifteen minute drive. they both are private individuals, so they talk a lot about premier league and real madrid instead of their hopes and dreams. after he was hailed as a captain, stevie has developed a liking to read self-motivational books and many of them are advising him to share more with people; be it his short term or long term plan or his coulrophobia but the thing is, xabi might be a decent chit chatting partner but he can’t seem to stop checking his cellphone in every twenty seconds or so. stevie doesn’t comment on it, he just pulls up in front of an organic cafe where he likes to spend his free time eating organic rice and drinking organic vegetable juice.  
   
stevie holds open the twinkling door for xabi and lets the spaniard to get in into the compact space first. stevie is a regular, he has his own table at the back of the femininely decorated cafe, and the owner, a thirty-something handsome woman, personally takes their orders. she doesn’t ask about who xabi is, she just smiles and explains that yes, our organic luwak coffee is a bestseller here and stevie encourages xabi to try it—he himself is never a caffeine person—because he can totally see how xabi seems to perk up at the mention of ‘organic’ and ‘coffee’ in a same sentence. stevie loves his uncomplicated english tea, thank you very much.  
   
after they’re satisfied with their orders, xabi is fidgeting on his seat, like he’s trying his best not to fish out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans and steal a glance. stevie decides to play blind about it. he likes xabi’s company.  
   
“do you know,” stevie points one index finger to his face and that gesture successfully brings xabi’s attention back to him again, “that i’m the youngest liverpool captain ever?”  
   
xabi smiles, his whole facial feature turns softer. “you are?”  
   
stevie might or might not be popping out his chest as he answers, “i’m only twenty two. how old are you?”  
   
“i am twenty,” xabi leans forward and mimics stevie’s conspiratorial tone from before, “do you know that my birthday is near?”  
   
“yeah?” stevie is grinning, remembering that xabi is capable of being witty.  
   
“yes, but it does not matter.” xabi shrugs. “do you come here often, stevie?”  
   
stevie shrugs too, only because he realizes that, “huh i like the way you say my name.” and stevie doesn’t realize that his offhand remark is pretty confusing in all its harmless glory. “what’s wrong? why is your face red? are you okay?”  
   
“why are you like this?” xabi shrieks like a hyena, fanning his face with the menu. “are you always this... careless?”  
   
stevie doesn’t understand what is happening. maybe in a moment of confusion xabi forgets the english word for what stevie did (what did he do?) and settled for ‘careless’, of all other adjectives.  
   
“i didn’t mean any harm though?” stevie tries with an apologetic tone.  
   
“yes, i understand that.” xabi openly sighs in relief when the owner approaches with a tray of their drinks.  
   
and then they’ve come to an awkward halt thanks to stevie’s... what? was it his bad joke? but he swears he hasn’t spewed out his infamous bad jokes so far. what is it? why is xabi sipping his organic lusomething coffee like he’s holding back his laug—wait. why is xabi laughing?!  
   
“oy. don’t leave me in the dark, mate.”  
   
“pardon me,” xabi is hiding his whole face with his long fingered hands. his voice is muffled when he says, “it’s nothing, stevie. you are really fantastic.”  
   
“well, fine.” stevie grins rather smugly, because if xabi doesn’t want to share what he’s thinking about stevie then it’s okay. at least he gets to have xabi spelling out his name in that fascinating way; like, stevie is a pretty common name but when xabi says it it’s _stebbie_ and to be frank, stevie is the kind of man who believes in simple happiness.  
   
“this is the best luwak coffee i’ve ever had,” xabi starts shyly after a while. “thank you so much for taking me here.”  
   
“really? that’s a relief.” stevie nods as he half-finishes his organic vegetable juice. it’s carrot, lime, celery, and fresh milk today. “‘cause i don’t really drink coffee. i wouldn’t know if it’s any good.”  
   
“i assume you also do not smoke.” there’s the soft voice and expression again. “i feel so unhealthy,” xabi grimaces. he looks embarrassed.  
   
“i’m an athlete, it happens naturally,” stevie hums. “i like alcohol enough. we should go to my favorite pub sometime.”  
   
xabi blinks.  
   
“give me your number.” stevie continues, unlocking his cellphone.  
   
xabi shakes his head like he’s amused by something that suspiciously rhymes with ‘steven gerrard’. he says with a somehow daring tone, “if i didn’t know any better i would thought you are flirting with me, stevie.”  
   
and that’s effective to reduce stevie into a spluttering idiot. “huh? what? _what?_ have i—” stevie frowns. “but—but we’re mates!”  
   
“i know,” xabi’s smile is patient and his voice is lowered into a whisper, “but i’m not straight.”  
   
 _(“yeah, lay off the fags a lil’, mate.”)_  
   
...  
   
jesus christ.  
   
stevie actually face palms like the kop expresses on the internet forum whenever liverpool loses on a match. he’s thisclose to punch the table because of his own stupidity; this is one of the rare occasions when having a time out over a secluded corner wouldn’t work for his nerves.  
   
“holy shit, xabi, i’m really, really sorry.” his palm is motionless on his burning face. “i didn’t mean to offend you or to get into your pants or summat! i swear!”  
   
“i understand, stevie. relax.” xabi is biting his bottom lip and he looks super calm. does it mean he get hit on all the time by the boys he’s used to it already? “i have a boyfriend. i had to make sure you are just being friendly. please forgive me.”  
   
“no no, i’m sorry, i really am. my friends told me time and time again that i bloody suck with social interaction. i swear this is how i try to make new friends, mate, i swear.” stevie shakes his head. he counts to twenty before his nerves are no longer bouncing off the wall and snorts, can’t help himself, and finally laughs out loud.  
   
“i’m glad you’re not upset, stevie.” xabi is chuckling, that ever so posh university student!  
   
“course ‘m not,” stevie wipes the corners of his eyes, “that bad, huh? i guess i need to get laid.”  
   
“you do that,” xabi nods with empathy, leaning back against the chair. “i told my boyfriend about you. he despises el real, you see, he said it’s about time my team brought misfortune to others. i refused to talk to him for the rest of the day.”  
   
“ouch.” stevie snorts, knowing the instant rage too well when someone insults his team.  
   
“he likes liverpool, though.”  
   
“‘likes’?”  
   
“he’s from australia. from sydney, to be exact.”  
   
stevie nods just as their meals arrive. they don’t talk for awhile except to compliment the melted americano cheese bruschetta with tofu scramble (stevie’s) and creamy cashew avocado sandwich with quinoa and chickpea salad (xabi’s).  
   
it’s inevitable, stevie thinks, making it a valid excuse in his head to stare at xabi. maybe it’s all because he just learned that the spaniard is gay and he’s never had a gay friend before (they’re friends, right?). or maybe, stevie sheepishly admits, he can’t really picture xabi fitting in the gay ‘crowd’ as his knowledge of gay ‘crowd’ is very limited to what they portray on TV; loud, proud, bitchy... of course stevie is curious. xabi doesn’t exactly scream I FANCY COCK with his calm demeanor and his wit and and and his whole being! he looks heterosexual enough! stevie doesn’t understand!  
   
“do i have something on my face?”  
   
“i—no. no, you’re alright, mate.”  
   
xabi smiles and looks up at stevie from behind his eyelashes. “you promise?”  
   
stevie has to smile back. he’s not in a hurry to understand, anyway.  
   
“i promise,” and for a good measure, “i’msorrynowhowabout your number? ahem. i will call you. tell your boyfriend not to miss liverpool versus manc next week.”  
 

   
   
   
   
 

 


	2. rated G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xabi and paparazzi. not a good combination.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a world cup *breakdance*
> 
> i hope you enjoy. comments and kudos are always encouraged and appreciated. have a nice weekend.
> 
>  

 

 

 

as hot chip’s _are you ready for the floor_ blasting loudly in his strategic business management II class, it is safe to say that today is officially the worst day ever: a book by xabier alonso olano.

xabi rejects the incoming call without looking at the screen of his cellphone, turns it off, and mumbles an apology to the professor from where he’s sitting at the left corner of the front row. he slouches even more on his seat, ignoring how uncomfortable his wet top feels on his spine and then he closes his eyes, trying his best not to lose his cool.

as if his monday couldn’t get any worse after falling asleep on his alarm, spilling coffee on his freshly laundered jeans, forgetting his umbrella, drenched in a drizzle, thisclose to get thrown out of the class, and that ill-fated phone call was the perfect grand finale of it all (or so, he thinks). usually, xabi never forgets to turn on the vibrate mode as soon as he disarms the alarm in the morning. but. the worst day ever, remember?

the only thing that can bring a little smile to his series of unfortunate events is the absolute fact that he’s going to spend the night at harry’s. he’s going straight to harry’s flat once his classes end. harry has a day off tomorrow, because his plane from tokyo will be landing later today just a little bit after lunch. harry attended a worldwide video games con there with two of his coworkers, because their company had won something that sounded like best non-violent game of the year.

xabi misses his boyfriend like crazy. it’s been a week.

his quiet smile seems to grow even wider as his mind is filled with harry’s everything; most notably the crow's feet at the corners of harry's eyes and harry’s butterfly kisses to his nape. xabi reaches a hand to touch said spot and he takes a sharp intake of breath. he will never understand it; the absolute fascination that harry indulges only for his nape, because unlike his favorite jawline which he can see everyday via the mirror, he _doesn’t bother_ to glance at his nape whenever he’s getting a haircut—like, it’s the back of his neck, what’s so special about it? yet harry always goes for his nape, while other boyfriends kiss their loved ones’ lips or cheeks to greet them after a long day. not harry, though. harry will always press his nose to xabi’s nape, inhaling xabi’s skin deeply and breathing out warm minty scent with, somehow, unadulterated satisfaction before he proceeds to kiss it.

not that xabi is complaining.

the way harry clutches at his parka/coat/denim jacket/bare hips from behind has quickly become xabi’s top secret the most favorite thing in the whole world next to real madrid. he can feel—no, he _knows_ that he’s being cherished by the older man, and that knowledge always brings happiness for him.

xabi is the kind of man who believes in simple happiness, anyway.

 

 

✖

 

it was steven gerrard who called him at nine in the morning and sent a text message at ten past nine saying that,

 

  
**First of all I apologize to u, but have ya read hello magz today? Dont h8 me OK!!! NOsy papparazi I tell ya., tty soon yeah?. Hav a nice day!**

**p.s. still not tryin to seduce y**

 

thus begins the apparently your day can get worse, the sequel, also by xabier alonso olano.

 

 

✖

 

 

among his friends, xabi is the smart, quiet guy who is infamous for being lightweight at parties but is too charming in his own mysterious foreigner way to be neglected. thus the ‘soft’ nickname, because everybody just can’t help but to like him in their own confused way—usually that goes for the lads, who either admires/respects/envies/lusts after him—while the girls certainly _like_ him, their giggles get more hysterical when they find out that xabi plays for the other team. some had tried to drag him to a midnight shopping spree and they got embarrassed that xabi didn’t think hot pink and fuchsia are two different colors and from then on they knew xabi didn’t fit to be their brand new, hot gay guy bff.

xabi is also the quietest as the middle alonso boys. he was the least whiny one, his mami said whenever they’re on a family gathering, showing off her boys to their distant relatives. his papi was the first who offered to talk when he came out a couple of years ago, and the old man had scolded him when he apologized for being different.

in conclusion, he is the most unlikely person to be seen on a front page of some british gossip magazine that he doesn’t even know exist and this might be the first time he stares really really hard to his own nape until his eyes are narrowed to thin slits.

currently his backside is in the front page of hello! magazine, with the headline **‘CAPTAIN FANTASTIC ON A CASUAL DATE?’** screaming in giant font and stevie’s grinning face grinning at _his printed self_ sitting on that little organic cafe last friday. a little bit at the bottom right corner, a round inset is placed with a picture of stevie opening up the cafe’s door for him (the caption says; **‘big and hard captain fantastic? how about gentle?’** ).

suddenly, the crowded magazine section in the bookstore ceases into nothingness and all xabi can hear is nothing but the rush of blood on his ears. his throat feels dry and it hurts when he swallows. when he blinks, black dots are swarming his vision and he has to hold onto the rack as he puts back the magazine to its place. his palms are sweating as he clenches his fists, and he bumps into someone when he staggers out. he apologizes in spanish, and he couldn’t go through his contacts faster to make a phone call.

“shabee! mate, good afternoon. why didn’t you take my call earlier? that hurt y’know?”

if xabi wasn’t _thisclose_ to have a panic attack he would’ve have laughed along with stevie’s lame sense of humor.

“stevie? stevie why am i on a magazine cover?” xabi hisses in between loud jackhammering of his heart and liverpool’s afternoon traffic. “am i in trouble?” xabi speed walks to an alley where a closed pub is located, too paranoid to be out in the open now that he can compute that paparazzi are a group of people who take candid photos with their sophisticated cameras and who says they wouldn’t be able to recognize xabi’s backside anywhere?!

this is ridiculous. sure xabi feels honored to befriend a football star of stevie’s class, and experiencing stevie for himself tells him enough that stevie is just like any other twenty something man who enjoys easy conversation and coldplay. xabi likes stevie’s company, that is true, but he never signed up to be linked with his _friend_ in a rumored romantic undertone by the media. and oh my god how media can be a powerful weapon to sell and promote according to his strategic marketing communication clas—oh my god does hello! magazine have twitter? because if they do imagine how many twitter users that are going to read the latest issue with xabi’s backside on the front cover?

what _if_ harry found out? harry didn’t sound too pleased when xabi told him about the impromptu lunch with stevie on their latest skype conversation, said that it was kinda weird to stumble upon steven gerrard twice in a span of one week, bee, should i be worried?—and even though harry had grinned after voicing out his teasing, still xabi had decided to change the topic to his latest addiction to haribo then. that made harry visibly relaxed against the headboard of his hotel room and led him to coax xabi to be a good boy and will you be a good boy and show me how much you missed me, bee, use your fingers, lift your knees more so i can see, yeah, just like tha—

even the lewd memory of their fumbling cyber sex can’t calm xabi’s current state. that says a lot, okay, because harry is a god in bed.

“a-are you alright?” any hint of playfulness is gone from stevie’s voice after he takes a moment to pause, which seems cruel, xabi thinks, for his heart is still palpitating and he feels cold all of a sudden and he doesn’t have anyone to blame for it.

“xabi? are you alright?”

“i’m—” xabi heaves, feeling the heat rising up to his cheeks. “i don’t—” he crouches down and buries his head in between his knees. the fabric of his jeans are scraping his skin roughly.

somewhere, stevie is cursing to someone or no one and here xabi is alone and scared.

“xabi? will you be a good lad and try to breathe through your mouth, xabi? please?” stevie says, no, he pleads and he continues to do so, “count to twenty slowly, can you do it for me?”

xabi whimpers to indicate that he’s going to try to do it. not for stevie, though.

(but nobody needs to know anything.)

xabi counts from twenty in spanish. he stops at fourteen because lo and behold, typical liverpool weather is gracing him with another set of drizzle. xabi always thinks that ‘hate’ is a strong word, but he knows he’s finally feeling the ugly emotion right now.

mostly, he hates himself for the fact that he—as mikel gently puts it whenever xabi gets too overwhelmed by the world—crumbles easily because of some elementary reason like oh god i don’t want it i don’t want to be steven gerrard’s anything. other people would have _easily_ dismissed the gossip as a laugh or as a once in a lifetime acquaintance with the so called fame. not xabi. he’s scared. he’s scared of harry’s reaction and the spotlight that he will probably get in the future. hatred feels so foolish for him. but it’s the truth. he hates it. he doesn’t want to be steven gerrard’s anything.

“where are you?”

“w-what?”

“where are you exactly?”

“i am...” xabi uses the heel of his left palm to wipe his blurred eyes. he reads the closed pub’s name. “in front of _tru scous’r_ pub,” he sniffs, “n-near the biggest bookstore by the university of liverpool.”

“right, don’t go anywhere.”

“what are you going to do?”

“i’m coming to get you, xabi,” stevie’s clicks his tongue, “we need to talk.”

 

 

when xabi sees stevie’s silhouette in between heavy curtain of salty tears and the tasteless rain, he practically leaps to his feet and throws himself to stevie, who stumbles back from the force but is catching him nonetheless; holding him tight and murmuring apologies to his wet hair.

stevie also talks to him for a while but xabi can’t hear him at all. he just goes obediently when stevie pulls him into the warm passenger seat of his audi. stevie helps him taking off his backpack and chucking it by his legs. xabi frowns and hugs himself, wanting to say sorry about the possibility of ruining the expensive leather of stevie’s car with his drenched clothes, although he can do nothing but gritting his clacking teeth.

stevie presses his knuckles to xabi’s damp cheek to get his attention.

“xabi? xabi can you hear me? here use my hoodie, please, you’re shivering.”

xabi struggles to take off his black sweater and the plain white t-shirt underneath, gasping loudly when the car’s temperature hits his skin. he lets stevie helping him out with donning the navy blue hoodie, and as he zips it up to his neck, he catches a whiff of chemically processed ocean from the cotton.

hugging himself again, xabi leans back against the leather seat and he holds his breath when stevie reaches out for his seatbelt.

“alright?” stevie asks, looks at xabi, and then twists his body to take a box of tissue from the backseat. his intention is clear as he plucks a handful of kleenex but xabi flinches away from the kindness, still way too paranoid even if the rain is getting heavier and the windows of stevie’s car are heavily tinted.

“i’m sorry, i—” xabi bites his bottom lip, twisting the hem of stevie’s hoodie with his trembling fingers. jesus. he needs to calm down. it’s not stevie’s fault.

“here,” stevie gently places the tissue box to his lap. “don’t forget to breathe.”

xabi manages to count from twenty this time, and then he begins wiping his face clean, putting the used tissues into his backpack. he counts to fifty before he can find his voice and breathe properly without bursting into tears.

“stevie,” xabi squeaks and on his peripheral vision stevie is snorting, holding back his laughter.

blushing but weirdly smiling himself, xabi tries again, _“stevie,_ am i in trouble?” he crosses his arms on his chest, hoping that he won’t appear like a petulant child, just a man who is going to turn twenty one tomorrow.

ah. xabi really wants to see his boyfriend...

“earth to xabier alonso olano, earth to xabier alonso olano.” stevie snaps his fingers right in front of xabi’s face. “i repeat, my agent said we don’t have to worry, because this one isn’t likely to blow up. he said there’s no article at all, just papz pictures of us with suggestive captions. alright?”

alri—

wait, _what?_

“stevie, what did you just call me?”

“your name...?”

“yes, but that is my full name! i never told you that!”

“oh. i looked you up on the internet. found your facebook and wudyacallit, twitter? i really like your insight of the growth of economy in india. read it on your facebook’s note.”

it is understatement of the century to say that xabi is speechless.

“so yeah, my agent said we don’t have to worry. but he advised you not to go back to that cafe anytime soon, just in case there will be paparazzi hiding in the bushes or something.” stevie continues his monologue smoothly, now a grin is permanent on his stubbled face.

xabi takes a very, very deep breath and relaxes, feeling the tension leaving his shoulders and his head seems lighter by the second. he smiles shyly at the older man, and rubs his hands together before he asks,

“you haven’t answered my question. am i in trouble, stevie?”

“by trouble do you mean like, followed around...?”

“yes and being in the news like celebrities.”

stevie taps a finger to his chin and he’s picking out his words carefully.

“i dunno, xabi, my agent said being a public figure is a tricky job. like i’m liverpool’s captain fantastic, right, and thankfully, so far, i’m scandal-free. when i dated alex curran the media did a lot of coverage, mainly because she’s a model, a celebrity of some kind. the media is like a link between me and the rest of the world. ooh steven gerrard is smiling at little kids at the greenbank park! stevie g was seen last saturday drinking with his good mate frank lampard from chelsea! breaking news, steven gerrard enjoying lunch with a good looking man, here’s exclusive photos just for you!”

stevie winks at xabi and xabi chuckles.

“see? my agent has been persuading me to make a twitter and what, instagram? in order to ‘communicate’ with my fans. my fans in beijing and tokyo and toronto can see what i’m up to via their cellphones and so on despite the time difference and we’re thousand miles away from each other. media is essential nowadays. i have contract with my sponsors, those ads, y' know? but people are interested with behind the scene, too.

i sincerely hope we’re not going to blow up, xabi. now that i know you’re not that keen to be exposed, i’ll tell my agent about it. he had a wild idea to milk out our story you know ha ha ha, before i told him that you have a boyfriend. we saw your facebook together and he said you’re fit to be in the spotlight. oh before i forget, he asked me to ask you this; what do you think about a career in modeling?”

xabi huffs, but the blush is back decorating his cheeks.

“i thought so,” stevie laughs. “don’t worry, xabier, i’ll tell my agent to make an appointment with hello magazine. i’m going to clarify that you’re just a friend, an anonymous friend, mind you, and i’ll blab about wanting to focus on my football and not relationship for now. besides, i'm straight, i'm pretty sure i go out with my lads a lot but it's just your luck, shabee! maybe you have some scandalous aura oozing out of your pores or something the papz assumed you're my date. must be a hard work for your boyfriend to keep you around, eh? now where can i drop you? home?” stevie holds up his right palm for a high five but xabi flicks it instead. was stevie complimenting him? he will never know.

“uhm, are we being followed or not?” xabi whispers and stevie guffaws, apologizing frantically when xabi pouts at him.

“sorry, sorry. i dunno, okay, but look at the rain! nobody is out there, see? oh no we can’t really _see_ ha ha ha!”

“you are really weird, steven gerrard.”

“yer not the first to tell me that, _hermano_!”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. still PG but hey, a kiss!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stevie continues being a weirdo. who celebrates a goal by jumping off the advertisement electronic boards to kiss xabi.
> 
> on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> hell-oh.  
> kinda had a hard time building the plot, but i hope you'll have a good time reading this chapter. ~~boobies.~~
> 
> p.s.  
> anyone haz sumting cool for gerlonso pr0n idea? i might write it y' kno? hit me on the comment.  
> thanks. have a great monday.
> 
> p.p.s.  
> [how we should portray xabi in da fic.](https://38.media.tumblr.com/9842f84ca2265326a64dc16733472181/tumblr_n92i3pDnVA1rlprwvo1_1280.jpg)  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

for his twenty first birthday, harry designs a video game character based on his physical appearance and his love for literature. the character’s name is ‘bibi’ (“ _very_ original,” xabi mocks complain or else he’s going to squeal) and bibi wears a trendy, 32 bit pixelated reading glasses. harry also gets him, in real life mind you, a pair of trendy 32 bit pixelated sunglasses and together they take a lot of selfies with harry wearing his own old school ray bean as they laze around on harry’s bed.

mikel buys him a slim fit suit from ted baker. thankfully harry loves the navy color on him _and_ how the trousers make his long legs go for miles and xabi only slightly successful to talk harry out of fucking him in it.

he agrees to finally defile harry’s kitchen counter though, so it’s a win-win situation for both of them.

stevie’s present comes in the mail the next afternoon, and after xabi freaks out that he’s going to see a liverpool match from the best view, he freaks out again because how the heck could stevie know it was my birthd—oh.

right.

xabi’s fingers are trembling when he types stevie’s name on the internet. he finds out that stevie’s birthday is on may. it’s six months from today, right, but xabi marks his cellphone’s calendar anyway.

he rechecks the calendar again for match day before he calls the weirdo to thank him.

“shabee!” stevie answers on the fifth ring. “you’re welcome.”

see? so weird.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, stevie,” xabi bites his bottom lip as the wicked idea to play dumb is wired through his brain. it’s been raining cats and dogs since morning and he had a pop quiz earlier that day. he’s sore all over and his brain is tired, but somehow he’s sinking more onto the sofa, ready to have a good laugh with his new friend who happens to be the captain of liverpool’s most beloved football club.

“i am calling to ask about bits of marketing in football,” he continues with a serious tone. “endorsement and shareholders and all that jazz for a paper. if that’s okay with you.”

stevie pauses.

“stevie?” xabi pinches his left cheek just so he won’t burst out laughing. _“‘alo?”_

“um,” stevie clears his throat, “this doesn’t go according to plan.”

“what doesn’t?”

“well uh, it’s supposed to be a surprise but. like, i got you two front row seats tickets for saturday’s match. are you positive you dun have sumting on your mail? swear i made sure i got your address correct!”

xabi manages to _gasp._

“oh, stevie,” he even places a hand to his heart, “oh, i am sorry. i don’t get any mail today.”

stevie sounds genuinely crushed when he mumbles, “i mean i remember you said your boyfriend likes liverpool, thought i’d get you tickets as a birthday present. i have no idea what do you like, xabi, so.”

“stevie, it’s fine. you don’t have to get me anything,” xabi is toning down his excitement. he can’t be too cruel to such a good man! “who are you playing against this saturday?”

“well it’s a derby against everton. pfft. i’m kinda upset right now.”

_dios._

“no no no stevie, no, please, focus. i promise i will cheer for you from my living room!”

“well it’s not that, xabi, i mean i was so fucken thrilled with an idea that you’re going to be there in the stadium, yeah? like, i want you and your boyfriend happy and it’s like, it’s gonna be a moral booster for me.”

xabi bites his bottom lip. this is so not fair. he’s the least person known in his group of friends to mastermind a prank! why is it when he does the subject of his harmless (?) prank is being all miserable and blue?!

he can’t just cancel his prank either. it’s been three minutes! he must be the worst prankster ever graces this earth.

in the end he can only say, “oh, stevie.”

“yeah,” stevie clicks his tongue, “just promise you’re going to cheer the loudest from your living room. so tell me, how was your birthday?”

xabi makes his voice lighter just because.

“twenty one is a good number, stevie. my boyfriend designed a video game character based on me! how cool is that?”

“damn,” stevie chuckles, “i had to sign like, lots of boobies on my last birthday ha ha ha!”

xabi doesn’t even care that he’s shrieking like hyena, _“boobies?!_ stevie!”

“what? it’s true!” stevie is still chuckling, but there’s a slyness behind it. “they’re boobies. perky or massive, doesn’t matter. boobies are beautiful.”

“oh my,” xabi has actual tears on the corners of his eyes, “oh my god, stevie! you sound like a twelve year old! why can’t you just say, uh— _dios_ , you’re a grown up! please don’t say boobies.”

“mate,” stevie snorts, _“boobies.”_

“stop!”

“nope. bet you can’t say it out loud.”

“i can too!”

“BOOBIES!”

“why are we yelling, stevie? boobies.”

“you’re the one whispering like a bird. BOOBI—”

“BOOBIES, BOOBIES, BOOBIES! there.”

“uh, wow, you’re right. that doesn’t sound awesome when you say it like a twelve year old. so disappointed in you xabier.”

the heat is burning his cheeks but xabi can take the cute accusation (humiliation?) as long as stevie stops feeling bad about the tickets.

“whatever, stevie.”

“you’re a boobies, shabee.”

“i’m hanging up.”

“wait didn’t you want to ask me about marketing in football?”

“aw, stevie,” xabi smiles and begins formulating fake, marketing related questions in his head. “you’re such a boobies. let me get a pen.”

stevie’s wholehearted laugh is a surprise.

“damn that wit, shabee, that wit is killing me.”

 

 

 

✖

 

 

 

harry makes a face when xabi video calls him an hour later.

“where did you get them?” he asks after squinting to read the printed details on the tickets.

xabi can choose to lie, but his tongue is faster than his memory of harry questioning and generally being suspicious about a particular steven gerrard, “birthday present from stevie!”

another unimpressed face from harry, now with a raised eyebrow. “seriously?”

“yes!” xabi is grinning, still not remembering anything. “these are the best seats, harry. you always said you want to watch a liverpool match.”

“and i’m always too busy,” harry doesn’t look skeptical anymore, he seems defeated instead. “dammit, that’s the day after tomorrow, right? i can’t go, bee, i have a deadline. we’re camping in the headquarter this weekend.”

“no!” xabi pouts.

harry rubs his left earlobe, a habit he does whenever he knows there’s nothing he can do.

“just go with mikel.”

“he doesn’t like football.”

“maybe he will.”

this is karma. he’s really the worst prankster ever.

“if you can finish early, will you meet me there, harry? i’ll come over tomorrow to give you the ticket.” xabi is whining. he’s aware that he’s doing the only thing that harry can’t stand from most people. but he’s not most people and he doesn’t whine that _often_ , so he figures he’ll just try his luck.

harry groans like he can’t believe xabi has reduced himself to be one-of-those-people-who-irritates-him. “alright, bee, i’ll see what i can do.”

 

 

 

✖

 

 

 

xabi brings a raincoat and an umbrella with him. he takes the bus to go to anfield. he buys a cup of vanilla latte from the nearest starbucks as soon as he gets off. the match is starting in ten minutes.

the seats are really the best. if he wants, he can jump off the advertisement electronic boards to run to the field and greet stevie cheekily gotcha! or something. he gets in late though, there’s a long queue on the gate.

anfield bleeds red, with a couple of brave blue spots here and there. xabi is just glad the match is only on its seven minutes mark, and he sighs when he sits alone on the front row seat. he sent a text telling his boyfriend that he’s there, and harry hasn’t replied.

a black haired girl on his left is checking him out with a confident smile. it looks like she’s here with a few of her friends, but they’re paired up evenly. xabi nods to her, appreciating her plump lips and lightly painted pretty face. he might be gay but he’s not blind.

he scans the field. stevie is a midfielder, but xabi swears if he blinks or loses his concentration for a second he’ll find stevie running to clear out the ball at his team’s defense line and/or sprinting to everton’s defense line tirelessly.

some time later, the crowd is making a continuous wave rounding the stadium, but xabi doesn’t participate and the black haired girl is shooting him an amused look. exactly five minutes after, everton scores, and the first half ends just like that. xabi doesn’t have a favorite player in liverpool, so his eyes have been following stevie the whole time, and he notes the slump on stevie’s broad shoulders as he walks back to the tunnel with liverpool’s manager rafasomething.

“hi.”

xabi is shaking his empty paper cup. it’s the black haired girl.

“we’re going to get some snacks, wanna join?” she asks, her voice is surprisingly raspy.

automatically, xabi declines.

“thank you, but i’m fine,” he says with a slight smile and her grey eyes widen as she catches up his accent. xabi is not in the mood to explain himself to the girl, he feels bad for her already because it’s not the first time he’s got girls’ attention; he’s familiar with the giggles and the adoring stares they give him. interested girls find him handsome in a brooding, hot mathlete way. his friends (girls, because the only gay friend he has is guti, back in spain) told him that he’s completely out of their patented gaydar, that the way he flicks his head or his fashion taste or his neat handwriting don’t even suggest that he likes guys. guy. harry.

speaking of.

xabi fishes out his cellphone from the front pocket of his skintight washed jeans. there’s a short reply from harry, telling him that he can’t make it. harry doesn’t apologize, just putting a kissy face emoticon at the end of his text. xabi smiles and replies with lots of red hearts.

“hi, excuse me?”

xabi looks up, and the black haired girl is shyly offering him a paper cup.

“i saw you drinking vanilla latte, so here,” she sits on her seat next to xabi, “i dunno how you like it, but i added a pack of cream and one sugar cube.”

oh, well...

xabi watches the girl’s expression as their fingers brush. she keeps their eye contact firmly before rearranging her stuffs on her lap.

“thank you so much,” xabi uses the paper cup to warm up his hands, “i really appreciate it.”

she waves her dainty hand in the air. that’s some amazing nail arts on her fingernails, xabi notices.

“i just thought you looked gloomy. sure we’re behind by one goal, but it’s not that bad!” she crosses her long legs and she’s wearing a pair of casual, neon colored nike.

xabi smiles.

“my boyfriend could not run away from responsibilities to join me,” he takes a sip and decides it tastes okay. “i deserve to look gloomy a little.” his smile grows wider when he sees she’s gaping at him.

“oh my god,” she tosses her black hair away from her face, “for real? my gaydar is sooooo rusty! i’m so embarrassed right now!”

“it’s okay,” xabi glances to the field where the players from both team are scattered for the second half. “how can i pay you back for this?”

“shut it!” she giggles then, scooting closer and whispering in a conspiring tone, “just tell me your boyfriend is cute!”

“cute?” xabi chuckles, fishing out his cellphone again and shows her off the selfies with sunglasses from his birthday. “my boyfriend is ruggedly handsome,” he whispers back to her and she coos.

“well you’re cute!” she slaps a palm to xabi’s left arm. “geez, it sucks big time being single,” she mutters to herself as she gazes back to the field.

“it’s not that bad,” xabi mimics her and she rolls her eyes at him. xabi watches unknown players running around for a while before he seeks stevie's figure. “who is your favorite player?” he asks after a couple of minutes. everton has been attacking and stevie gets pushed back to help with the defense again.

“our captain of course!” she answers without missing a beat. “and there’s something sexy about reina. i think it’s because he’s spanish.”

 _“gracias.”_ xabi is channeling his inner weirdo stevie, and look, she’s giggling hysterically at that lame joke!

“you’re spanish then?”

_“sí.”_

“real madrid?”

“forever.”

“you’re like my dream boyfriend!” she cries dramatically and that’s when the whole stadium roars and xabi’s hold on the paper cup nearly slips as he stands up to see what’s causing the ruckus.

the big screens are playing a replay of stevie scoring an equalizer.

stevie is being smothered by his teammates and xabi grins at the black haired girl who celebrates with her friends. he’s just looking away to put his paper cup on harry’s empty seat when he hears the crowd is going wild for the second time.

and then his eyes meet stevie’s.

who apparently has jumped off of the advertisement electronic boards and is currently running towards him.

reaching out for him.

planting a brief kiss—is it really a kiss?—on his lips and whispering _damn you xabier alonso olano, damn you!_  with a dazzling smile before he pumps his fists to the cat-calling fans. some fourth officials are ushering him back to the field.

xabi stills. he vaguely remembers the friendly shoving from people around him after he’s seated, but mostly he can feel the coldness of his fingertips as he presses them against his numb lips and the black haired girl’s disbelieving/envious/delighted question,

“i thought you said you have a boyfriend!?”

and then—

_harry is going to be so pissed._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. rated G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a filler. me needs helps. pls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in retrospect, stevie a) should’ve known better, or b) could’ve blamed the adrenaline after scoring the equalizer, or, like, if he was in any other situation less awkward than this, he c) could have accused xabi to be responsible for his spontaneous kiss because xabi was the one lying to him by (literally) saying _oh stevie i’m sorry i decided to pull a prank on you, thanks for the tickets~ oh but lookie here stevie i’m here standing with my handy coffee and my gorgeous black coat why don’t you go up here and kiss me?_  
  
mostly though, stevie feels bad. he broke his promise. the world is now curious about the handsome lad who was ‘lucky’ to get liverpool’s captain fantastic victorious kiss, and his agent and publicist are seriously considering to set up a meeting with xabi and make some calls so xabi can be interviewed and photographed by the hungry media. they claim they have a very reasonable excuse, which is xabi’s face.

well, stevie can’t argue with that...

“are you sure he’s not answering?” his publicist asks for the hundredth time that evening, and stevie makes an ugly face as an answer, not bothering to look up from his cellphone. xabi’s line just went to voicemail again.

they’re in liverpool’s vip meeting room; him, his agent and publicist, liverpool’s public relations team, and the gaffer.

“pretty sure he’s pissed at me,” stevie says, shrugging nonchalantly to the whole room. “i told you, right? he’s got a boyfriend already. the kiss was the most spontaneous thing i’ve ever done in my life!”

“you can’t just run to your ‘friend’ and kiss him after scoring a goal, stevie,” his agent has a hint of smile on the corners of his lips. “this cabee person must be special.”

 _“sha-bee,_ jesus,” stevie frowns and shakes his head, both at his agent’s ridiculous pronunciation and the shadowy implication. “let’s leave him alone. he made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to be in the ‘spotlight’, i swear!”

“thing is,” the head of liverpool’s public relations team speaks up for the first time, “hello magazine is putting two and two together. they _know_ the guy you kissed on the match was the same guy you had a date with.” she fixes her frameless glasses on her nose. “it’s too late to ask them to cancel their latest spread, stevie, what we’re trying to say here is, your friend might get a little bit of attention anyway.”

stevie doesn’t even want to imagine how disappointed xabi must have felt!

“and the internet is a scary place, i heard.” his publicist pipes up. “probably gonna be a good thing for him though? like, maybe he needs a career boost or something?”

“jesus christ!” stevie slams his fist to the table and he only manages to control his breathing after the stinging is gone from his skin. by then everyone is in a stunned silence; their captain fantastic usually never loses his temper. “xabi is not like that and i’m not going to use him either! i don’t even fancy him! he has a goddamn boyfriend for god’s sake, it’s all my fault, alright?”

“okay, fine, stevie. we’re not going to push anything about this friend of yours,” his publicist casts a quick glance to the head of liverpool’s public relations team, “we just thought that it’d be great for your image. you’ve been single for a year. it seemed like a good idea you know?”

yeah, he knows.

when he first signed with liverpool at the age of seventeen, he didn’t give it much thought; the fame and its consequences, which can seem petty at first—ridiculous please-sign-me-boobies or just-stop-playing-i-will-be-your-sugar-mama-until-yer-no-longer-cute even—but they’re actually getting more absurd as the years go by. he had only wanted to play, but then he got an offer to be in pepsi and adidas commercial that went viral, and suddenly everybody wants a piece of him. paparazzi are snapping his holiday pictures at ibiza and hawaii and at glastonbury. alex was his first famous girlfriend and he had liked her genuinely for the two years of their relationship, but then she cheated on him with the son of her modeling agency’s president and stevie has had dates with plenty of beautiful women after that, he’s kissed and done more with them, so why the hell did he kiss xabi and not the cute black haired woman sitting next to him?

“so, do you need any help with your friend? want me to settle things down...?” the head of liverpool’s public relations team pauses. and then she raises her plucked eyebrows and stares at stevie with a meaningful _look._

stevie snorts and he’s thisclose to curse at her. he remembers his mother, though, so he just mutters _save it for your problem child suarez_ and walks out of the vip meeting room, bowing slightly as he reaches the double door.

 

 

 

✖

 

 

 

stevie heats up mac n’ cheese for dinner. he boils diced apples with honey and cinnamon for dessert, topping it with sour cream and vanilla ice cream and he keeps his cellphone by his side as he watches the town on HBO.

when his spoon finally clinks against the plate, stevie thinks he’ll go to xabi’s apartment to apologize in person. it’s been three days. whenever stevie types his own name on the internet, the front page results are all about ‘the lucky mysterious man’ from a dozen different gossip websites. there’s also this social media called ‘tumblr’ with its gif formatted moving pictures of him running, scoring, smoldered by his teammates, running, kissing xabi, xabi’s handsomely shocked face, and the kop’s wild cheers after that. people of tumblr made the scenes from different angles, as if they couldn’t get enough.

stevie did the same, too, squinting at xabi’s handsomely shocked face as if he couldn’t get enough.

sighing, stevie gets up from his reclined plush chair. he’s still thinking of going to xabi’s apartment to apologize as he washes the dishes. he goes to the refrigerator and chugs down orange juice straight from the carton, imagining xabi doing the same thing but he can’t; because xabi must have a manner. like, does he even drink juice? stevie remembers xabi was holding a cup of something on his hand when he kissed him. maybe stevie can bring the organic luwak coffee that xabi likes from their ‘date’ before? you know, as a peace offering?

that’s quite a good idea.

stevie grabs his cellphone and his wallet and after some quick thinking, decides to wear a black hoodie, his most beloved grey beanie, and the plain mask. the organic cafe is still in business hour, but the owner is not there so stevie hurriedly buys two bags of the expensive, organic luwak coffee and drives south to the albert dock.

a swarm of journalists with their sophisticated cameras and clouds of smokes are swarming right in front of xabi’s apartment, and stevie curses his luck. those scary gossipy journalists have memorized his white audi’s license plate and whatnots.

now what?

stevie steers away from the main parking lot and drives around the complex. he arrives at where he first met xabi, and recklessly parks his car there. he gets out, pulling his beanie lower until his ears are covered, dons the hood of his hoodie, and looks up. if he concentrates, he can see xabi, wide-eyed and pale, perched on his windowsill on the third floor. stevie wonders if xabi is the type who chain-smokes whenever he’s stressed. he did say he was going to have exams, remember, so it’s a possibility that he’ll die of lung cancer because of stevie’s fame!

xabi has just turned twenty one! stevie doesn’t want xabi to die that young!

in a spree of unreasonable panic, stevie grabs the nearest, chunkiest stone and by some miracle—because he sucked big time when his team decided to make him quarterback on a silly american football game—hits the closed window right at the center, the sound of the scattered glass is deafened because of the blood rushing in his ears.

his cold hands are thrust deep in the pocket of his jeans when a man who looks like xabi (but not really) is yanking open the cream colored curtains, frowns at him, disappears, and stevie is sighing in relief when in one blink of an eye later, flesh and blood and stubbled xabi is half-glaring, half-pouting as he pushes the window open and asks,

“what is it, stevie?” with his super cute pronunciation that stevie needs to pinch his thighs before he grins like a tactless idiot.

stevie clears his throat and rocks on the balls of his sneakers. he makes sure he’s not yelling.

“are you okay?”

xabi doesn’t answer the simple question that stevie has been dying to ask via rejected phone calls. xabi puts a hand to his mouth and shakes his head instead. from this angle, stevie can’t tell whether his spanish amigo is angry or, dare stevie say, touched by his honest concern that alex had said is one of stevie’s best qualities as her boyfriend.

stevie is not xabi’s boyfriend, though.

“i’m sorry, xabier,” stevie wills his head not to lose focus. there’s a sharp prickle from the back of his neck, so he concentrates on the pain. “i wasn’t thinking. i didn’t mean anything with that kiss. you just surprised me, y’know? i’m so sorry.”

xabi shakes his head again, but at least the corners of his lips are curling up.

“harry said he is so done with liverpool.”

“harr—oh, your boyfriend?” stevie fakes a scowl and answers with a playful tone, “fine, my fault. just tell me harry’s not supporting everton or what!”

“he turns to manchester united,” xabi chuckles at stevie’s mime show of puking.

they halt in a comfortable silence.

“you heard me, right?” stevie sneezes to the left sleeve of his hoodie. “i’m sorry,” he grimaces as he sees xabi’s sympathetic stare. “yeah it’s kinda cold tonight ha ha ha.”

“i heard you just fine, stevie,” xabi answers a little bit louder because of the sudden noisy wind. “i’m sorry, too.”

“why are you sorry?” stevie sniffs, rotating his stiff neck.

“i shouldn’t have lied about the tickets,” xabi’s smile is ironic, “that way, you wouldn’t have kissed me and harry is still rooting for you.”

“tough luck, mate,” stevie shrugs, licking his dried lips, not really regretting anything. “i got you something, but you know there are journalists in front of your apartment, right?”

xabi actually rolls his eyes and stevie is going to _die._ that’s so cute!

“my brother nearly had a heart attack when he went out to tesco this afternoon,” he scrunches his nose, also cutely. “we are going to starve, stevie, we haven’t restocked.”

“that was you brother?” stevie smiles. “he looks just like you.”

“the journalists thought so, too.”

“damn that must be quite traumatic ha ha ha! anyway, i got you something. that organic luwak coffee you like? i have it in bags. think you can catch them?”

xabi laughs, throwing his head back and stevie blinks at the pale column of his neck. his _slender_ neck, to be exact.

“thank you, stevie, but you’ve done enough damage for today,” xabi has twin pink spots on his stubbled cheeks now. “you can deliver them, if that is not a trouble for you? i really like the coffee, yes. i am sure my brother will be delighted to taste it.”

“oh shit, yeah, sorry about the window!” stevie sneezes again. “shit. what a november weather. i’ll deliver the coffee bags and the window’s reparation fee, i swear.” he sneezes _again._

“i won’t be going anywhere, stevie,” xabi nods, “take your time. now please, will you go home and rest? cannot have captain fantastic having a flutastic on training tomorrow.”

stevie snorts. trust xabi to spout nonsense with _that_ face and already forgiving him. he's so lucky that xabi is a really good friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello beautiful ladies.  
> as you can see, feel, and read, imma having another hard time to build the plot. here be the problems:  
> 1) in what fashion will stevie realise that he's crushing on da spanish hermano?  
> 2) how about xabi when he realises the same thing?  
> 3) we all know harry is going out of the picture, but liek, h o w? trooollolollolololllo.
> 
> imma open for discussions. srs buzinezz. hit me on da comment, yeah?  
> have a nice weekend.


	5. pr0n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so updating regularly has never been mah virtue. troollololololo.
> 
> but shout outs to:  
> aideen, aisha, Monalisse, Kay, nad, and mata for the awesomeness.
> 
> kudos and comments are encouraged and appreciated yo.  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

xabi is aware about his slight popularity because he’s the quiet but charming foreigner guy in his classes. but after he was hailed as ‘the lucky lad’ by every single newspapers and gossip magazines and hip websites, now a friend of a friend and his or her friends are looking at him at least _twice_  when he’s eating in the cafeteria or when he’s walking to his management class. his neighbors are all gushing over him, those harmless young housewives and their cute babies.

once, in the tube, a sharp-dressed man recognized him and flirted with him suavely and xabi didn’t even realize that he’d been flirting back until the man slipped a card to his palm before he got off at liverpool central. he’s been taking the bus ever since, and for a good measure, puts on his earphones just so people—who might or might not recognize him— will know that he’s not up to have a chit chat.

his mother doesn’t even know who steven gerrard is, but his father does, and the last time they skype-ing, his father was _shrieking_. mikel actually choked on his organic luwak coffee and staining the front of his jumper. when his mother scolded her husband about his uncharacteristic hysteria, he decided to google steven gerrard and then his mother’s eyes _glinted_ as understanding began to dawn on her and xabi stalked to his room, refusing to talk to anyone.

the hype is toned down a little after ten or so days, because there’s another leaked sex tape from hollywood actress. harry fancies her, because she’s a hot red-haired woman with impressive body and her acting is okay, xabi knows, since harry downloaded the video from torrent and has been jerking off to it for a few days.

speaking of harry, he already forgave him.

“hey.”

xabi bends his neck, offering the nape for harry’s chapped lips to kiss. he’s sitting on harry’s comfortable sofa, reading an old game magazine which featured harry and his team as the future of united kingdom’s gaming industry.

harry plops down next to him, pulling at his waist so they can snuggle back-to-chest. the older man nuzzles xabi’s freshly showered nape, while his hands are caressing xabi’s stomach and thigh.

“i look okay in that picture, right?” harry asks with a hushed tone. his left hand is inside xabi’s old and frayed ‘breaking bad’ t-shirt, and his palm feels hothothot against xabi’s skin.

“of course,” xabi leans his weight more to harry’s front, probably, innocently, rubbing his ass to harry’s crotch while doing so. “tomorrow is saturday,” he sighs wistfully. “i miss you." 

“hmmm~” harry smirks to xabi’s left earlobe. “you do?” he takes the magazine from xabi’s hold only to throw it carelessly to the floor. and then he cups xabi’s swelling crotch with that hand, chuckling and squeezing and his other hand is creeping up to rub at his nipples.

“yes, i am hot and red-haired, too,” xabi grinds his ass, his intention is clear. “harry, listen,” he wriggles until they’re face to face and he can’t help but to kiss him senseless, because he’s going to be the best boyfriend ever by confessing coyly,

“do you know that i had my pills?”

 _“fuck,”_  harry snorts at the pleasant surprise and pounces on xabi, who giggles and welcomes his bruising kisses and impatient hands. harry is just like any other man. the thin, friendly latex is necessary, alright, but he never says no to the rare times when xabi initiates bareback to enhance their pleasure. harry gets extra wild just at the thought of his cum filling up xabi to the brim and he sounds like a _wounded_  animal when the milky whiteness is oozing out of xabi’s swollen hole.

but the thing is, xabi is _very_ fertile, according to his mother and his family doctor, and so during their six months of dating, harry’s had three precious chances to fuck him bare.

three. without complaining at all.

plus, looking back at how the hilarity by the name of steven-gerrard-and-his-harmless-glory has been rocking their relationship for a while, well, xabi is sure harry deserves the special treat today.

“where are you going?” xabi gasps because harry is no longer sucking at his bottom lip.

“lube,” harry mumbles absentmindedly, throwing one leg to the floor.

“no no no no no no,” xabi shakes his head. he pulls harry back down again by the neck of his classic mickey mouse sweatshirt, clacking their teeth together and moaning as harry thrusts his hips, aligning their denim covered cocks.

“nnnggh,” xabi pushes harry’s face away to take off his t-shirt. he doesn’t waste his time to immediately pop open the button of his skintight jeans while harry undresses himself before helping him with the sexy but irritating pants. xabi doesn’t wear anything underneath, and harry growls at the sight of his half-hard cock.

xabi goes to unbuckle harry’s belt and blurts out, “don’t need lube. just you.”

“jesus, _xabi_ —” harry jumps to his feet and the veins on his arms and neck are showing because his own jeans are delaying him from fucking xabi hard and fast and more. “fuck this!” he snaps and stumbles as the jeans are stuck to his ankles.

he’s panting by the time he’s back on top of xabi. 

“christ!” he presses his forehead to the crook of xabi’s neck and tries to regulate his heavy breathing. “things you do to me, bee,” he slips his perspiring arms to cradle xabi’s head, and xabi coos into their sweet and unhurried kiss.

harry breaks off their kiss again to spit to his palm, and then he’s gripping their hard cocks and stroking them, his hips are thrusting along, forcing xabi to spread his legs wider to make room for their foreplay. he hooks his left leg to the back of the sofa, and his right around harry’s firm waist. he thinks he wants to ride harry, but he’s too lazy to move, let alone voicing out his desire.

harry’s damp finger is circling the outer rim of xabi’s hole, and it’s kinda dry when it pushes in. xabi tells himself to relax, but he whimpers in protest when harry’s second finger tries to join.

“shit shit, okay,” harry apologizes and pulls his fingers out, spitting _again_  to coat his short but thick digits. “relax, bee, i’m not going to hurt you.” he presses a chaste kiss to xabi’s left kneecap, and pushes in two at once.

xabi spurts out a load of precum the second harry makes the scissoring motion, gradually loosening his tight hole. harry rotates his wrist, fucks him with a constant rhythm, scissors him, repeat, and when the tip of his middle finger grazes his prostate; when xabi’s spine curved and xabi is shouting in bliss, he sings praises to the air, murmuring that he’s going to fuck you so good, bee, you’re mine, you’re so beautiful, i’m going to make you feel so fucking goo—

“harry! harry, _por favor,_  i—!”

harry curses softly.

“now?” he asks breathlessly, pulling out his fingers from xabi’s clenching hole to stroke his awaiting cock.

“please, harry, just—” and xabi’s plea is cut off because harry is guiding his cockhead inside, and xabi can feel the stretch and burn from being penetrated by harry’s satisfying girth. harry groans, takes the back of xabi’s knees to push them up to xabi’s chest, and he slides in deep, deep, deeper smoothly. they sigh in unison when harry’s in to the hilt, but not enough to hit xabi’s prostrate dead on unless harry starts fucking him like he means it.

harry lifts his head to kiss xabi’s lips, briefly, because harry doesn’t like to kiss during sex, said that his dick can’t focus to pleasure them both and xabi has decided not to ask for more from his older boyfriend no matter how much he loves to be kissed before, during, and after.

“nnmmm,” xabi runs his fingers through harry’s hair as harry straightens up. he opens his eyes and sees harry frowning as he grabs his ankles, testing the position.

“comfy?” harry asks, spreading xabi’s ankles wider, thrusting in playfully.

“yes,” xabi bites his bottom lip. he wants more. “please.”

harry smiles handsomely at him, and with a deep breath, sets his pace; his thrusts are short but hard, so the slapslapslap of their skins are a nice soundtrack to xabi’s ears. 

“fuck that’s good,” harry hisses, and xabi whimpers pitifully as he watches harry’s adam’s apple bobs.

xabi especially loves the wet feeling of harry’s uncontrollable precum inside, it tingles his whole body when harry releases them, and when a copious amount of precum is already soaking his hole, the squelching sounds _extremely dirty_  xabi has to let his mind wander somewhere other than the sensory overload that harry is currently providing.

somehow, xabi’s mind is replaying the kiss from stevie, and he’s rather disoriented when he blinks opens his eyes because harry’s bared neck is greeting him. he swears he can hear the kop cat-calling amidst harry’s quiet grunts and the slickslickslick from his drenched hole.

“harry...?”

“yeah, bee?”

_oh._

 

 

 

✖

 

 

 

stevie is clueless about who started the lame ‘truth or dare’ game during their flight to madrid, but he’s so joining in because dan brown can’t keep him up at all.

obviously, the elder squad is bullying the youngsters by coercing them to take dares. so far, sturridge had to kiss henderson’s armpits and sterling had to touch his ears with his toes. carra preferred to tell them the truth about his undeniable fascination for unicorn. sami chose a dare to wax his left leg with a conveniently available masking tape from sturridge’s bag.

sami roars after the painful waxing,

“oh captain, my captain! truth or dare?!”

“truth!” stevie barks without thinking clearly, and the squad cheers.

“shit that hurts,” sami grumbles, but his eyes glint mischievously. “so, stevie g, what is it from mystery guy that you fancy?”

pepe smacks stevie’s back as the squad cheers again like a bunch of jocks finding out their captain eyeing the classy scholar.

does anybody ever tell pepe that he has giant hands?

“ow, pepe, ow,” stevie glares at the goalkeeper. “and for the record, sami, i don’t fancy ‘fancy’ him. but to tell you the truth, he’s got this cute witty personality that kills me every time.”

pepe dismisses stevie’s glare and casually asks, “so you don’t fancy ‘fancy’ him, but you _sorta_ fancy his _personality_?”

heh.

stevie rubs his nape, contemplating the implication. “no, not exactly fancy. more like, intrigued,” he finds the right word to express what he’s feeling for xabi, and he smiles because, yeah. it’s true. he’s intrigued. he thinks xabi is violating the core characteristic of his kind, because stevie never knew a man who is shy but _not_  shy when it comes to bantering. like, dirk is shy, and he doesn’t joke around at all. that’s a poor comparison, but that’s the best stevie can come up with! you really need to experience xabi alonso for yourself to understand.

“how come we never know more about him after the blast from the media, cap?” sterling’s eyes are wide, and everyone is listening.

“‘cause he doesn’t want you to, that’s why,” stevie says with a shrug. and then pepe opens his mouth to add more question, and that’s when stevie realizes the unfair game. he protests, “wait wait! it’s my turn now. pepe, truth or dare?” 

the squad actually boos and stevie scoffs.

“what? do you think i won’t notice? you lads are just like a bunch of grannys,” stevie uses his captain fantastic’s serious business voice.

carra is quick to retort, “well, don’t blame us. who would’ve thought you had it in you, stevie?”

“have what?”

“your so called ‘intrigued’ feeling for another guy.”

stevie understands his teammates are teasing him about the supposedly big bi revelation or something, and usually he’s got no problem to laugh at himself, too, but apparently, not today.

 

 

 

✖

 

 

 

xabi hates to admit it, but as the match reaches the end of the first half, every time the camera zooms in stevie’s sweaty and frowning face, he can feel his cheeks getting hotter for no apparent reason at all.

it’s a good thing that harry despises real madrid and converts to manchester united and mikel is out with his friends this sunday, because xabi knows his body the best, right, and no matter how hard (ha ha) he tries to deny it, still, the fact that he’s aroused is crystal clear.

he presses the cushion over his lap, distracted but grinding against it. when the whistle’s blown and the players are heading to the tunnel and the camera catches stevie wiping at his face with the hem of his iconic red jersey, showing off his glistening abs, xabi sighs and gulps and locks himself in the bathroom to jerk off.

later that night, stevie texts him to apologize because liverpool beats real madrid 2-1 and xabi dreams about naked stevie on top of him, kissing him tirelessly as he fucks him nice and slow, filling him up better than harr—

oh.

oh, god.

_oh my fucking god._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. roller coaster, anyone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and that gasp does wonder because the next thing stevie remembers is that he can taste tangy chopper among the tea and the butter on xabi's tongue and how responsive xabi is to his touch and how his knees hit the plush bed with xabi sprawled underneath him, crying, apologizing, coming untouched as stevie empties inside of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

stevie double-checks everything.

is he staring at the rented black, toyota sedan with its tinted windows and ratty exterior? yes, he is. his white audi is in the garage.

is he wearing a douchebag-esque, obnoxious snapback with ‘SUX’ embroidered in the front side and a pair of gigantic, hipster glasses to disguise his blue eyes from the prying paparazzi and their sophisticated cameras? check.

how about his outfit? how about his extra-frayed, grey sweatshirt and the ancient jeans he’s owned since forever and his squeaky clean converse? are they enough to fool everyone? yeah, yeah they are!

okay, let’s go!

he hasn’t seen xabi for a while, and it’s the beginning of january already. iker casillas’ gloves from when liverpool beat real madrid 2-1 at the champions league were all ready in a nice packaging as soon as stevie landed back in england, but xabi had been so busy with assignments before christmas. plus, xabi went home to basque and all. stevie stubbornly convinces himself that the gloves are super special he’s not sending them by post. oh, no. he’s been waiting long enough! liverpool gave everyone a week off, and stevie thought it’d be nice to spend it together with xabi.

who looks exceptionally fresh today with bits of snow decorating his longer hair (he has fringe now) and that scrunchy nose greeting stevie shyly.

“ _holà_ , stevie.”

“hi yourself.” and there’s this spread warmth in stevie’s chest as he watches xabi loosening his black scarf with his gloved fingers, as xabi catches himself looking and beams at him in return.

“where are we going?” stevie watches the way xabi’s smooth cheeks are stretched to form a smile, and he wonders how cold it must be outside for the red blotches are slowly coming back on xabi’s skin.

“just to a dingy pub.” stevie grins and tells himself to concentrate on driving the rented car. “but i swear they make the best pie, served hot, thank you very much, so you better keep an eye on the road. the place is very tricky to find.”

“i can’t wait,” xabi fastens his seatbelt and runs one hand through his damp hair. “how was your holiday, stevie?”

“not bad, wish it’s longer than a week though.”

“aw, sorry to hear that. but you are not injured, right?”

“no,  _god_ , thank you lord, no. how about your holiday, xabs? is basque as cold as my city?”

“not really, stevie.”

they fall into an easy silence until their—

“new year new me?”

“may i?”

—overlap each other and they burst out giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.

“you first.” xabi sighs, still with a hint of giggle at the corners of his lips, as they stop at the first red light.

“oh, was just wondering if you took the ‘new year new me’ seriously. i mean your hair is longer.” stevie gestures to the general direction of xabi’s head.

“why stevie, don’t you like it?”

wait.

wait. wait a minute. correct stevie if he’s wrong but  _did xabi just flirt with him?_ did xabi just start the classic bait in which stevie have to reply with a reassurance that no no no, you look great with long hair, really! and then xabi will bat his eyelashes shyly and stevie will have to lean to kiss those pouty lips?

“stevie? the light’s turned green.”

heh.

stevie clears his throat and if xabi notices that he’s gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline then he’s smart enough not to say anything. in fact, xabi is quiet for the rest of their short drive to the dingy pub.

as if he  _knows_  that he’s crossed a line, somehow.

stevie doesn’t like it.

“don’t make that face, c’mon.” stevie nudges xabi out of the rented car and guides him to the pub’s door with a persistent hand on xabi’s lower back. he takes xabi’s long coat and they sit at the farthest, darkest part of the pub after stevie nods to the bartender and orders the usual.

xabi is scrunching his nose as they’re seated warmly across from each other.

“this place is...” he says quietly, glancing around the cramped area and then smiling like they’re planning a conspiracy. “well, stevie, i hope you never brought your ladies here.”

stevie  _has to_  grin at that. “thank god you’re not my lady, huh?”

xabi rolls his eyes cutely. “oh, yes, stevie.  _thank_ god.”

“though that’d be more convenient,” stevie blurts out, “if you were a lady.”

“of course not,” xabi grimaces, but thank  _god_  he doesn’t seem to be insulted whatsoever. “i would be high maintenance. louboutin stiletto and all that jazz, stevie. you would be broke if i were a lady!”

stevie gulps and he thanks jesus christ the lord and savior for bernie, the owner of the pub, interrupting his  _are you saying you like to dress up, xabier?_  by serving them two plates of hot pies with an extra dirty wink at stevie.

“go away, old boy.” stevie chuckles as bernie pats xabi’s back. “and thanks for these.”

xabi hums in delight when he inhales the pie’s delicious scent. his moan when he takes the first bite is heavenly, if stevie is being honest.

“mmmnn, what’s in it, stevie?” xabi is clueless about how his innocent sound of satisfaction is a torture to stevie’s conscience. “stevie? why aren’t you eating?”

stevie fakes a sniff and rubs his nose with the sleeve of his grey sweatshirt.

“minced beef, i think. salt, pepper, mushrooms for sure. do you like it?” he diverts their conversation back to the pie. and when xabi nods at the question, stevie wills himself to appear smug. “told you.”

“yes, yes stevie, thank you very much.”

“so, beer? sure as hell they dun have fancy wine for you.”

“i don’t think so, stevie. i am very lightweight. i also don’t like the aftermath.”

“the hangover, you mean?”

“yes, tomorrow is saturday. i want to enjoy it.”

“what do you usually do with harry on weekends?”

xabi frowns. he doesn’t say anything for a long, long time that stevie feels bad about it. he orders two glasses of beer and he’s halfway through his glass when xabi finally touches his; his sip is tentative, he’s frowning again, but when the beer is downed and he can taste the excellency of homemade brewed beer by bernie, he doesn’t stop.

his cute nose and cheeks are reddened by the end of the first glass and he’s slurring so badly like a true scouser stevie has to shift closer in order to comprehend his friend’s whining.

let stevie repeat that; xabi. is.  _whining_.

“‘arry’s in london.”

stevie blinks. “what do you mean?”

“he’s moved to london. to a bigger game company.” xabi grabs stevie’s half-empty beer and finishes it without any preamble. stevie can only stare at xabi’s adam’s apple, ignoring a muffled warning in the back of his head about how everything is going to spiral downward after this, and then forgets about  _everything_  as xabi slumps sideway to the booth, showing off his slender neck.

“did you guys, like, break up?” stevie manages to catch xabi’s head in time before xabi hits the hardened couch. “whoa, easy there.”

xabi whines high on his throat and wraps his arms loosely around stevie’s torso. he buries his face on stevie’s stomach and his legs have moved to tangle with stevie’s underneath the table.

when xabi said he’s lightweight he wasn’t kidding.

“xabi? you okay?” stevie hopes his hands aren’t that cold as he cradles xabi’s head gently. “want to go home?”

xabi shakes his head. “want to blow you.”

stevie gapes.

“w-what?”

“want your cock.”

“d-don’t think that’s a good idea, xabs. you’re drunk.”

“no i’m not. i want to suck yer cock, stebbie. can’t i? i’ll be good.”

and before stevie can form a coherent refusal, xabi slithers down so he’s on his knees on the pub’s questionable floor, mouthing stevie’s denim covered cock.

stevie growls and yanks him back up so xabi ends up on his lap, giggling breathlessly like he  _likes_  being manhandled when he’s not sober.

oh wow.

_wow._

“xabi you’re drunk. you don’t want this.” stevie shoves him back to the booth, feeling disgusted with himself for wanting, just for a split but insane second, to have a go at giving what xabi  _thinks_  he wants. xabi is drunk, goddammit, you should stop right the fuck now steven george gerrard.

but xabi whines again and his unfocused glare screams that he’s not used with being rejected.

“fine.” the spaniard hisses and abruptly stands up, his steps are swayed but determined to go to the front door. stevie curses, noticing that xabi forgot to take his long coat. by the time he’s paid bernie, xabi is already out of the pub.

“xabier, come on!” stevie catches up easily, draping the long coat to xabi’s slumped shoulders. “listen, let’s go home, yeah?” he hauls xabi’s heavy arms to his shoulders and drags them to the rented car.

and then the snow falls.

stevie tucks xabi to the backseat, lying him down and blanketing him with his long coat. xabi hides his face with the long coat, and doesn’t say anything. stevie gives xabi’s knees a squeeze before he gets into the driver’s seat. he counts to twenty, straps on the seatbelt, and puts on the engine.

“i got ya sumting, ya know?” stevie thinks he doesn’t have to whisper but he does anyway. the mood inside the car says so. “sumting from real madrid.”

xabi sniffs.

“please don’t cry.”

“...i’m not.”

“okay.”

“just take me home, stevie.”

 

 

 

their disguise works. so far stevie is sure they haven't been followed by the nosy media.

but xabi is still silencing him.

"want me to come up? is your brother home?" stevie asks after he kills off the engine. he's lucky he gets to park close to the apartment's lobby.

"he's not," xabi sighs when he sits up. he's biting his bottom lip like he's holding back his pain. "i'll be fine, stevie."

"promise?" stevie is not going to argue. if it were him he'd be pissed as well if his mate is overly concerned about him.

"promise." xabi gives a small smile and with one last sigh, he opens the passenger's door.

and slips on the icy ground, falling face first.

 

 

 

"i don't think it's broken," stevie says as he cleans xabi's bloodied nose gently with a rag. at least xabi's ironic smile is playful and rightfully embarrassed, not humiliated and sad.

"tea?" stevie hands over a bag of ice and xabi nods, lying back down on the sofa, pressing the bag of ice to his nose.

the alonso residence is neat and cozy, as expected. there are two bedrooms, one bathroom, a compact kitchen and a surprisingly spacious living room with various bachelor decoration like childhood photos and tasteful paintings. overall, the place is not that different than stevie's apartment.

he finds the pot and the mugs, and adds two spoonful of sugar to each. there are quite a selection of teas, and stevie wonders which alonso brothers drinks pomegranate tea, of all things. stevie bets it's xabi, though, so he takes one bag of pomegranate tea and one bag of peppermint tea for him.

"pomegranate, really?"

"shut up."

stevie grins and plops down next to xabi on the sofa.

"should we watch something?" xabi waves the TV remote in the air and stevie shrugs. "let's watch telenovela."

"are you serious?" stevie snorts. "first you're a high maintenance lady now you're an avid follower of telenovela?"

"hey, even a high maintenance lady needs her number one source for heartbreak…" xabi pouts.

"alright, alright, i'll help mending your heartbreak." stevie pretends to shake his head in disbelief and xabi giggles as he surfs the channel. he settles in one telenovela that has a plot about a country girl crossing fates with the typical cold, city man. according to xabi, the actress is currently the hottest headline in spain. stevie agrees.

 

 

 

"but how come antonio just blindly believed that maria did such un-maria things to do?! it's clearly fiola doing, xabier!" stevie groans at the credit roll of 'mi corazón es tuyo' episode 73. "i can't with antonio. he's such a twat."

"i know he is." xabi nods, seemingly so pleased with stevie's outrage. "27 more episodes to go, stevie. remember 'mi corazón es tuyo' is on every friday night."

"oh say it again!" stevie says, wriggling his eyebrows at xabi as he takes a handful of cinnamon and honey popcorn from the bowl. he's getting suspicious that xabi was indeed a high maintenance lady on his previous life. look at the selection of his snacks and his taste for strange flavor for his tea and coffee!

"hm? say what stevie?" xabi uses a tissue to wipe his sticky fingers instead of licking them clean. stevie kinda wants to complain.

"the telenovela title! you sound so sexy just now. that mi froyo thingy, come on." stevie urges xabi to say it again.

xabi frowns, looking skeptical. "it's 'mi corazón es tuyo', stevie, it's not that hard to pronounce."

"yeah? 'mi kyorason is tuyo'. how about that?"

"no no, 'mi co- _r_ a- _z_ ón es tuyo'."

"'mi corazón es tuyo'."

"si, stevie. my heart is yours."

when stevie is too busy pondering well shit that sounds better and not cheesy at all in spanish, xabi gasps. and that gasp does wonder because the next thing stevie remembers is that he can taste tangy chopper among the tea and the butter on xabi's tongue and how responsive xabi is to his touch and how his knees hit the plush bed with xabi sprawled underneath him, crying, apologizing, coming untouched as stevie empties inside of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> yo fuck this fic was last updated on august 2014?
> 
> _2014?_
> 
> gonna sleep now but hey. hey an update. 
> 
> tell me whachu think? please?


	7. rated G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mikel is a good brother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“xabier.”

xabi’s knees twitch. liverpool’s weather is just getting worse and worse and the bathroom’s cold tile is not helping at all. the same goes for his stomach, which has been acting up for almost three weeks now. he barely eats anything, his stomach can only tolerate goat cheese crumbled on top of kale and spinach smoothie (which is confusing), and he can’t even stand the smell of mikel’s toasts in the morning. he nearly _cried_ yesterday when mikel spread marmalade on his toasts, it was _that_ revolting.

speaking of mikel.

“xabier? we need to talk.” his older brother is blocking the door, arms folded on his chest. he was going out when xabi woke up running to the bathroom. now that he’s back home, mikel’s dark hair is all disheveled no thanks to the late march wind. he’s still in his favorite coat. the tip of his nose is reddened. he looks... tense?

“yes?” xabi croaks out, wiping the side of his mouth with the hem of his frayed t-shirt. he closes his eyes when he flushes the toilet, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the atrocity that is the content of his stomach. which, despite all the throwing up episodes, is bulging considerably than the usual. that’s also confusing.

just like how mikel sighs at the sight of him.

“i am going to make it easy for us,” mikel steps in. he has a plastic bag with boots’ logo on it. “you went to the doctor last week, yes? the doctor said it was just flu? i think he might have forgotten to run this test for you.”

xabi frowns. mikel is taking out a small box, then two, and then _three_ that all labeled ‘pregnancy kit test’ and ‘99,9% accurate!’ and colors are drained from xabi’s face.

“mikel? what is thi—please don’t make fun of me.” xabi doesn’t like how his voice quiver as if he’s already acknowledging the possibility that yes, he’s indeed pregn—no. no, he’s alright. he’s not. _no_.

“i would never, xabier, you know that.” mikel shakes his head. “but i’ve got pregnant co-workers over the years. you are showcasing the same symptoms as they did. toasts have never bothered you before, xabier. and what’s with goat cheese? you fucking _hated_ goat cheese!”

“i—” xabi bites his bottom lip. it quivers just as bad as his voice. “mikel, please don’t scare me.” because truthfully? mikel did scare him with his near-hysterical yelling just now. mikel is the epitome of the calmest and the coolest older brother, so for him to yell like that, well.

“i’m sorry,” mikel takes a lungful before he releases it like he’s either sad for xabi or disappointed. maybe it’s a combination of both. “i’m so sorry. take your time. i dunno.”

xabi doesn’t want to take his time. he wants to cry.

“here,” mikel puts the plastic bag on top of the counter. “do the test, xabier. you have nothing to lose.” xabi stands his ground when mikel gives his shoulder a tight squeeze, and when the door is shut, feeling an inexplainable surge of anger, he tears open the pregnancy kit tests only to throw the sticks to the bathtub. they clatter rather pathetically, but none of them breaks.

xabi sobs. his tears are hot on his cheeks.

he searches for an empty cup around the bathroom, but settles on a stale aspirin bottle instead. he throws the stale tablets to the bin and arranges to pee in there. the instruction on the back of each boxes say he has to wait five minutes for the result.

he waits, then. he washes his hands until they’re turning blue and uncomfortable. he wipes his tears off and uses the hem of his frayed t-shirt to dry his face. it’s only been three minutes. he brushes his teeth, steals some of mikel’s dental floss, hurts himself with it his gum is bleeding, and when tears are threatening to fall down again, he glances at the aspirin bottle and sees two blue stripes. everywhere. all at once.

two blue stripes.

he checks the boxes and they tell him two blue stripes mean _congratulation, you’re pregnant!_ and he can feel his knees giving out but he can’t remember the swelling he’s going to have on the back of his head later as everything fades to black.

 

 

 

of course mikel asks _whose baby you’re having, xabier?_ —the classic older brother’s _i’m going to fucking kill him_ is left unsaid—and xabi almost blurts out _i think it’s harry’s_ but harry broke up with him not long after he had a drunken sex with stevie, rememb—

oh god.

oh my _god_!

the subtle pain lingering on the back of his swollen head is coming in a tidal wave and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out. mikel helps him by holding the ice pack and rearranging the pillows. thank god for his bed. and his favorite blanket. he only needs his mama and everything will be alright.

ha.

“what’s so funny?” mikel asks, clearly puzzled.

“pfft,” xabi closes his eyes, “i was thinking about my future.”

“what about that?”

“i have yet to graduate but there’s a baby in me. who’s going to hire a single father with no experience? who’s going to take care of my baby? i’m liking liverpool, mikel, i do not want to go back to basque to settle down.”

mikel pauses.

“so you are keeping it, xabier?”

xabi pauses.

“do not look at me like that, xabier. you know there’s always the _other_ way. it’s your body. obviously this pregnancy is a result of an accident. you don’t have to... _have it_.”

“oh, shut up,” xabi swats mikel’s hand away, snatching the ice pack. “that’s too cruel.” he turns his body over, presenting mikel his back.

“listen to yourself! it’s your future, xabier. you’re only twenty one!” mikel jumps off of the bed and xabi really, _really_ doesn’t like it when his older brother cranks up the volume of his voice. he bites his bottom lip or else he’s going to cry again. “wait. who’s the father? you haven’t answered me. is it harry’s? _fucking christ_ i told him to be careful with you. jesus. xabier, you should talk to him, get another opinion about this because it’s partly his responsibility, too.”

“it’s not his,” xabi presses his left palm to the small bulge of his stomach.

“what the fuck, xabier?! a fucking one night stand, then?” mikel is positively yelling by now. his pacing footsteps are loud in the room. he adds seconds later, sounding calmer but still full of accusation, “sorry. a new boyfriend i didn’t know about? what’s his name? is he from your class? fuck. he’s younger, isn’t he? xabier, talk to me!”

xabi swallows down bitter saliva. maybe it’s the right time to be sarcastic, like, _no, mikel, he’s a year older and he gets paid per-week, probably rich_ as fuck _, you know? i’m a thousand times luckier than any of his groupies because i’m having his baby! he’s not gay but i’m pretty sure he enjoyed my body all the same! yes, you guess it right; it was a_ fucking _one night stand._

but xabi is never a sarcastic guy. he’s not even trying to be ironic. it’s just his luck.

“it’s stevie’s, mikel, we had sex once.” xabi mumbles. “you know him. stevie. steven gerrard, your beloved liverpool captain.”

okay, he might be being sarcastic just now. that feels good.

“were you being sarcastic with me, xabier? i don’t like it.” mikel stops pacing.

xabi chuckles. he can’t help it. “i was, sorry. but it’s true. i think it’s stevie’s, i... slept with him about, i dunno, two months ago? back in january?”

“it’s the end of march. jesus, is stevie gay, xabier?”

“he is not.”

“what? how?”

“easy. he put his cock in me, ejaculated, and voila here we are.”

“this newly found sarcasm, xabier, i really don’t like it.”

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. did he use condom? did you forget your pills?”

“i was drunk. i—i might or might not be making a move on him. it’s not his fault, mikel, it’s mine. he didn’t know i’m the most fertile male in all albert dock, no. he didn’t use condom.”

“you are still being sarcastic, but i forgive you. okay, gimme stevie’s phone number.”

xabi decides he’s too exhausted for any of this, whatever _this_ is, and sighs.

“no, mikel. leave it. i’m tired. can we have indian curry for lunch? extra mango chutney for me, please.” he moves so he’s facing mikel again. his older brother softens up at his request and agrees, apologizing for his yelling and cursing. he promises to buy the lunch for them so just go to sleep, xabier, we’ll talk more later.

 

✖

 

their parents are surprisingly (for mikel)—unsurprisingly (for xabi)—okay when they break the news via skype that weekend.

“stop cursing like a barbarian, mikel, you’re giving your mother a headache,” their papa says with a poorly concealed wide smile. “xabier, son, who’s the lucky guy knocking you up?”

_“jesus fuc—”_

xabi pushes mikel with unnecessary strength, sending him to the floor yelping like a kicked puppy.

“i’m still not sure, papa, but i can assure you he’s a good man.” he lifts mikel’s laptop up to his lap, effectively blocking mikel’s attempt to brainwash their parents to... not enjoying the news for awhile.

“oh, that is good. have you made appointment to the doctor, xabier?” papa asks again while mama listens attentively by his side.

“i did. the baby is nine weeks old.”

“so you are keeping it?”

“i’m still thinking, mama. i’ll have my decision soon.”

“you can’t have the a-word if your baby is through its fourth month, xabier.”

“i know, mama, my doctor told me so.”

“is your doctor single, amor?”

xabi laughs out loud at that. trust his mama to uplift his mood in a matter of seconds!

“mama! please, doctor casillas is married~”

“didn’t hurt to try...” mama smiles, eyes twinkling like she’s a teenage girl instead of a mother of two adult sons. “have you talked to the father?”

“i haven’t told him.”

“i see. take your time. but make sure of your decision, amor, raising a baby is not easy. the father may want to provide, he may want to have a say about the matter.”

“especially when you’re still a baby yourself.” mikel adds, unhelpfully, and he gets a cushion to his face. “oy!”

“oy yourself,” xabi mumbles, rolling his eyes. to their parents he smiles sweetly, “where were we?”

“well, papa tried a new recipe yesterday. it was marvelous!”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good day.  
>  **okay now brainstorm with me how the heck will xabi tell stevie about the baby?**  
>   
>   
>   
>  *peace*


	8. fl00f (you better believe it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all is well. even stevie is not being a weirdo for once. i promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  holy fuck i can never thank you guys enough for still having faith in me. tis the season, i think. euro cup is near. damn. watch out for a flock of fics ~~from me~~ troololoololollolololo.
> 
> anyway.  
> i'm so happy with this chapter. two more to go.  
> i hope you'll be happy with the update. now lemme sleep.  
> comment please?  
> thank you thank you thank you.  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

liverpool has been losing matches lately.

and it’s all stevie’s fault.

no, really, _it is_. he didn’t do a great job leading his teammates from the shock of losing to arsenal at anfield, which resulted in losing to everton away with a spectacular 0-3 result, and the worst of it all, he got booked last week for brawling like amateur with whachaname from aston villa.

the match ended up in a draw, and liverpool is currently down to the sixth position on the table.

nope. not good.

stevie trains with everyone just like the usual, but if they seem wary of his sudden distanced self ever since the whachaname provoked him until he lost his cool as a captain—and at this point, probably whatever’s left of his dignity—nobody is saying anything. not even carra.

“here.”

it’s the gaffer, nodding at him when he takes the offered energy drink. they’re sitting on the bench, the top two figures of the team, watching the rest of the squad bombarding pepe with practice shoots.

“thanks,” stevie says, twisting open the cap even though he’s not thirsty.

“you will be going to the match then?” rafael asks, taking a sip on his own grape flavored bottle. “to tell lampard to have mercy on you?”

stevie barks out a laugh. he almost forgets how liberating it is to do so. _to laugh_. jesus. what is he doing?

“that’s mean,” he’s still chuckling when he finally manages to answer rafael. “but who knows? i might do that. he’s just one call away.”

rafael nods again. “exactly.”

“what?” stevie smiles to the sun, squinting at sami’s spectacular penalty kick that pepe can’t reach. his cheer is just a moment too late.

“whatever is distracting you—ah. no. in your case steven, _whoever_ is making my captain play like a lamb learning how to walk, they’re just one call away.” rafael claps to join the hype for sami, and he gets up before stevie can ask him further about what he just said. like, did rafael just compare his grace as a liverpool captain to a lamb learning how to walk? ha! also, who’s having a sexual crisis?! surely not me, ha ha h—

...

wait.

_what?_

stevie looks up—in horror, damn—just in time to catch rafael winking at him, miming talking to a phone as if stevie needs more emphasizing.

“you are dismissed, steven!” rafael shouts, waving his telephone hand and tutting when he sees stevie is about to protest. “don’t come back until you are settled!”

“you can’t kick me out!” stevie pouts, crossing his arms, not minding that he’s not being a good example for his teammates—who are already, conveniently, halting everything related to training to listen.

“of course not, _capitan_!” rafael’s smile is a mile too wide. “go!”

stevie huffs, making another not so good example by stomping his way to the locker room. he should’ve smiled or dismissed rafael’s out of character playfulness like it’s nothing. but he straight up sulked juuuuust like a child. _ugh._ he won’t get the end of it if carra and pepe find out that he’s going to call the main protago— _antagonist?_ —of his sexuality crisis in order to seek the answer.

 _ah. damn you, xabi_ , stevie thinks as he trails the cold wall of the locker room with his fingertips.

(to tell you the truth, stevie was convinced—he was thisclose to grab his keys because he had already dressed up—to visit a gay pub in the heart of liverpool just to have a laugh about his vivid dreaming of fucking a crying xabi in xabi’s neatly made bed some weeks ago, over and over again. he didn’t, because he decided to just watch gay porn to test himself, still in his pressed shirt and brand new slacks, and nope. not even the nicely plotted, beautifully shot debauchery could ease his worry.)

hell, who is stevie trying to kid? he _knew_ nothing could but a particular spaniard with floppy hair and a quiet wit that kills him every time.

stevie is twenty two years old. he’ll be twenty three next month. never in his life he would’ve thought that another man would hold his heart a captive. xabi is perfectly able to take care of himself, yet stevie won’t mind if he can indulge the younger man just like he indulged his previous ex-girlfriends. that, or maybe stevie is just craving for xabi’s equally hard-muscled and hairy body; for his cigarette smoke kisses and sweet smelling sweat and the pretty tears when stevie had fucked him to his neatly made bed some weeks ago. when was it, anyway? it was cold at the time, and xabi had just broken up with his boyfriend, right? they’re both adults, though, they can have sex with no strings attached like any other functional adults in the whole liverpool.

they can do _that_. hell, stevie is going to ask xabi to let him have a comfort sex every once in a while. yeah. damn, that seems so easy in his head. silly stevie!

stevie opens his locker to get his phone. there’s a text message from none other than xabi, the life of the insane party in stevie’s mind and pants. it’s really fate, then. he’ll need to thank rafael later.

whistling, suddenly feeling ecstatic and confident and all the positive adjectives a healthy twenty two years old male can think of, stevie reads the text:

 

_Hi, Stevie. How are you?Was wondering if I can have your time to talk about something. After all,it’s been three months since the last we saw each other. Please let me know when’ the good time._

_Your hermaño, Xabi.,_

 

amazing spelling. straight to the point. stevie can do that. he types a reply and the answer is delivered in just a heartbeat. they’re going to have lunch in xabi’s apartment an hour from now.

 

✖

 

he brings a bouquet of fresh flowers and a bag of that exotic coffee xabi loves. he dabs cologne on his neck and his black polo shirt is immaculate. his jeans and his lucky pair of classic reebok are the coolest, at least in his mirror’s opinion. he chews mint instead of haribo this time, and he shows up right at 12.30 in front of xabi’s door. it’s friday. what a good, sunny day. he might take xabi out for ice cream if xabi is up for it.

stevie rings the door bell.

he’s anticipating this lunch date, of course. he checked the latest xabi’s facebook post while he drove (yep, another bad example for the kids) and xabi had posted a simple ‘feeling blessed’ as a status. xabi got fifteen likes from his friends. stevie wished he had a personal facebook, not the ‘ _official_ ’ one his personal assistant runs for him.

anyway.

a click, and, “ _holà_ , stevie.”

the xabi standing before him is different than the xabi stevie remembers. the floppy hair is gone. there’s light five o’clock shadow decorating xabi’s fuller cheeks, which flush adorably red when stevie takes in the state of xabi’s... rounder stomach? his longlonglong legs are still lean, though?

“um.” stevie takes a step closer and he transfers the flowers from his right hand to his left, hovering his palm just above the swell of xabi’s denim shirt clothed stomach.

xabi takes a step back and grasps stevie’s damp hand gently, pulling him in. he’s fucking _glowing_ when he sends stevie a small smile.

“please, sit down first.” xabi isn’t letting go even when they sit on the sofa stevie remembers from some weeks ago. wait. scratch that. three months. it’s been three months. the alonso brothers’ apartment is still just as cozy as stevie can see. no significant change whatsoever.

“you look good, stevie.” xabi says, squeezing stevie’s hand before getting up to take the flowers and the plastic bag to the kitchen. he walks just fine, he’s not wobbling or anything, stevie notices. he can’t help but to trail xabi everywhere with his eyes.

“thanks—i mean. so do you.” he stammers, feeling his chest tightened all of a sudden. “um. how are you? like.” _is it what i think it is?_

“i’m good, never better. do you like my haircut?” xabi comes back with a bowl of homemade cheese tacos and what looks like tomato juice in a wooden tray. the swell of his stomach is still there when he’s next to stevie again.

“hungry?”

“well,” stevie forces himself to look away. the tacos are still warm. “sure. i didn’t know you can cook.”

“you just never asked,” xabi says cheekily as he tucks one leg under the other, angling his upper body so he can look at stevie unabashed, like he knows the effect he has for the poor captain fantastic.

“true.” stevie mumbles, blinking when his gaze falls towards xabi’s stomach _again_. “um.” he frowns and reaches for the glass. it’s a spicy tomato juice. he loves it. he _didn’t_ know he was this thirsty because he finishes the glass in one gulp. goddamn.

“i hope you like guacamole and tortilla wrapped lemon chicken.” xabi puts his head on the sofa’s headrest. “i also made caesar salad.”

“great.” stevie shifts on his arse, creating some distance from xabi and from the cheese tacos. his palms are getting even more damp.

there’s a pause from both of them.

“are you p—”

“you can tou—”

the way xabi bites his bottom lip is just like how stevie remembers; coy and cruel. stevie grimaces and scratches his not-itchy nape, and he swallows down a lump when xabi takes his right hand gently, directing it to the focus of stevie’s great question and placing it on top.

“this is what i wanted to talk to you about, stevie,” _stebbie_ is all stevie can hear from xabi’s soft, accented voice, “i’m pregnant. and it’s yours.”

(talk about ‘feeling blessed’.)

the swelling is not too big, but it can’t be hidden either. the surface is kinda hard when stevie presses the heel of his palm to feel more of... it? a baby? there’s a baby in there? _in_ xabi? and it’s _stevie’s_?

“how—how long are you?” stevie can’t hear himself. his heart is too busy deafening him with its poundpoundpounding. he’s probably having a difficulty in breathing, who knows. he needs to hold on to something.

stevie decides to wrap his left arm around xabi’s waist.

xabi smiles, scooting closer and petting stevie’s carefully styled hair. “three months,” he says, fond and proud, and quieter, “i’m sorry.”

“why? why are you sorry?” stevie looks up, and xabi is frowning, his nose is scrunched in his own cute way stevie remembers.

“i don’t know.” xabi’s smile turns sad. “i’m sorry.”

stevie shakes his head. he straightens up, holding both of xabi’s hands on his. he makes sure he gets xabi’s attention by kissing the cold knuckles and letting xabi palming his face for reassurance of some kind. “listen, it’s okay. i _don’t_ care. it’s mine, yeah? i don’t care about anything else.” he nods and exhales a shuddery breath when xabi finally nods along with him. three months. _christ_.

“is it a boy or a girl?”

“we can’t know yet, stevie.” xabi’s smile is still soft and a little unsure. “are you—is this really okay? you are not suspicious of me, stevie?”

“suspicious? why would i be?” stevie tilts his head to kiss xabi’s wrists.

“i don’t know.” xabi gasps, stretching his arms for a hug that stevie gladly welcomes. stevie hugs the spaniard tight, relishing in the warmth and the clean cotton scent coming from him. “i don’t know. i’m sorry.”

“noooooooo... it’s okay!” stevie caresses the back of xabi’s prickly head and trembling shoulders. “i trust you. it’s not your fault.”

“but—!” xabi is crying. he has tears streaming down his face and stevie wipes them off with his thumbs. “but i was drunk and lonely and i kissed you first. oh, stevie, i swear i didn’t mean for all of this to happen.”

“hush.” stevie pinches xabi’s chin to make him look at his eyes and his heart actually _aches_ seeing the sadness and the guilt in those endless amber irises. sure he’s hurt that xabi had selfishly thought he would blame him for the baby, but he can’t imagine how had xabi lived for the past three months with the assumption! that must be devastating for a university student like him! is he eating enough? does he get any rest at all? stevie worries because isn’t xabi on his last year of uni? what about his thesis? when will he graduate?

his kiss to xabi’s temple serves as an anchor mostly for himself. he needs to be the very most okay-est between them. he needs to be strong.

xabi needs him.

“alright?” stevie asks to the top of xabi’s head, and xabi just noisily takes a deep breath before he pushes stevie to lie on his back. “oomph!” stevie laughs, spreading his legs and enjoying the plush sofa engulfing his back. he toes off his shoes and soon he has xabi tucked against the sofa’s backrest and his still poundpoundpounding chest. the extra weight from xabi’s stomach is a pleasant addition, and stevie hums his affirmation when xabi asks if he doesn’t mind them staying like this for a while.

 _i’ll stay forever_ , stevie thinks, before he falls asleep.

 

 

 


End file.
